


Strawberry Shortcake

by TheatrePhantom



Series: Trans Dib for the Soul [1]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst, Author Projecting, Coming Out, Crying, Discovery, Dysphoria, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Realization, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sibling Bonding, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:22:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24280513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheatrePhantom/pseuds/TheatrePhantom
Summary: For many trans people, it’s a difficult journey towards finding your identity. Dib faces the same struggles.Somewhat inspired by Melanie Martinez’s song Strawberry Shortcake- hence the name.
Series: Trans Dib for the Soul [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790959
Comments: 31
Kudos: 86





	Strawberry Shortcake

**Author's Note:**

> Since some of this is written from Dib’s perspective of life before he realized he was trans and came out, much of the beginning uses she/her pronouns for Dib (which I kept struggling with actually doing instead of using he/him), so… heads-up, I suppose.

Dib stood in front of the mirror, peering sceptically at herself. While she knew that it was her own honey eyes staring back at her from the reflective glass, it didn’t feel _right_ . The body in the mirror was very clearly her own, perfectly matching everything about her real body from her small shoulders to her round face to her long hair. Just looking at it Dib _knew_ that it was her body she was seeing, but in every possible way, it didn’t seem like _her’s_ . Very little about it seemed right. Very little about it felt as though it actually matched. Dib didn’t know a lot about herself right now, but she _did_ know that what she saw in the mirror didn’t feel right- that the person on the other side of the mirror wasn’t her. 

With a deep sigh, Dib shook her head. There was a _reason_ people at school treated her like garbage. Not only was she the freak obsessed with the paranormal, but she was also just a strange girl in general. Maybe it was because she wasn’t pretty enough or perhaps the fact that her clothes never hung right on her went into it. 

For years, Dib had been told that she would grow into her body and that she would grow to like herself and how she looked as she grew older and matured. They all said that Dib would love what she looked like when the beautiful miracle of puberty finally hit her but she couldn’t help but feel like they had all been lying to her because she just looked and felt _worse_ . She felt as though her entire body had betrayed her and, while she didn’t understand what it was that made her feel that way or even what it was that she was feeling, she felt as though she were in a body not her own. She had certainly grown into the body she had been given at birth, but the body she had been given at birth was _not_ the right one. Dib just didn’t know why.

She stepped back, giving herself a better view of her body, making cringe at the sight of it. Her shoulders were small and her hips were wide like a normal girl’s. Her hair fell around her face, framing it’s delicate features in an, albeit, somewhat awkward manner considering how her hair took after her father’s, making it fall in jagged zig-zags down her shoulders rather than in pretty waved. Her eyes were wide and the colour of warm honey. She was completely unremarkable and looked, in many ways, like a normal girl, so why did it feel so wrong? Why did it look so odd and out of place on her if these were the features that other girls her age had- embraces even. Shouldn’t she be happy about her wide waist and her chest and her soft, delicate figure like a normal girl? 

Maybe she was just doing something wrong. Not wearing the right clothes or styling her hair the right way. Maybe if she started straightening her hair or wearing skirts more frequently she’d look better and feel better about her general appearance. If she looked prettier to other people, maybe she would _feel_ better.

Oh, how wrong she was. 

Before she left for school, Dib decided to do something she rarely did. She wore a skater skirt and flat-ironed her hair so that it felt in a long, straight wave down her back. Standing before the mirror once more, she decided that she did, indeed, look more like a normal girl. Now so more than before, she looked like just another girl from the yearbook. 

Still, it didn’t feel right. Something still felt off in a major way, but she couldn’t quite tell what it was. 

Regardless, she went to school.

Unsurprisingly, people noticed the change, however small it was, and, although it made her look more like the other girls at her school, it brought unwanted attention in the cruellest ways possible. They pulled her hair and pushed at her skirt, teasing her for changing what she had kept the same for so many years. As her fellow peers had done for years, they hurled insults at her, calling her a tryhard, a slut, and a wannabe. 

Of _course_ she was a tryhard, if she didn’t put forth effort, people treated her like garbage (although trying harder didn’t seem to do anything to lessen that). She _had_ to put forth the work or she would continue to look like some broken thing when she saw herself in the mirror. Even still, she looked like her own skin didn’t belong on her skeleton- that her _brain_ didn’t belong in her body. She felt as though her very skin and bones were lying to her and everyone around them, deceiving them with their looks. 

It was her fault. Dib had subjected herself to this ridicule just by being who she was and living inside the shitty little body that she had. She was just a hermit crab in an ill-fitting shell and it was a secret to no one. She brought any torment from her peers onto herself by continuing to let herself be that cowardly hermit crab without a proper shell to live in. 

She would just have to try harder.

~~~

Dib propped her leg up on the side of the bathtub awkwardly. She knew that girls her age typically shaved their legs and did so regularly but, even after reading a (ridiculously unhelpful) WikiHow article, she still didn’t understand how. Presumably, she was supposed to use some sort of water-soluble moisturizer or something to make it easier when she shaved, but, seriously, where was she going to find that? And how would one even check to see if a product like that _was_ water-soluble without either searching it on the internet (which very likely wouldn’t result in anything factual) or testing it out? Was that something that they put on labels? Either way, Dib didn’t know and felt completely lost when she had been searching for it, so she decided to just take her dad’s shaving cream and use that instead. That _was_ it’s intended use, after all, so she saw no harm in using it, even if it was “supposed” to be used exclusively for men- in fact, she felt more comfortable using shaving cream as opposed to the suggested moisturizer. 

Following the advice of the WikiHow article as best as she could, Dib carefully ran the razor over her legs in smooth strokes. She narrowed her eyes intensely in concentration. Shaving her legs felt like some strange kind of science that Dib was new to that everyone else around her just seemed to pick up on immediately. Whatever science that this was, Dib wasn’t interested in it. Much like the classes she attended at school, though, she felt as though this was a science that she was required to master rather than one she wanted to, and, as she struggled to figure out how to do this without hurting herself, she finally was able to empathize with the kids in some of her classes who struggled with the lessons that so many others around them found simple. 

Regardless, Dib had managed to shave both of her legs with minimal casualties along the way, only sustaining a couple of razor bumps and one small cut that she quickly and easily cleaned and bandaged. 

Once finished with the whole ordeal, she stood in front of the mirror, backing up enough so that she could see her entire body in the reflection, including her now silky smooth legs. As she stared at herself in the mirror, though, she couldn’t help but frown. She didn’t feel cleaner or fresher than usual as many other girls her age said they did, nor did she find that it made her look better. It wasn’t _terrible_ from an aesthetic standpoint, but, for some reason, it just looked _wrong_ on her. It _felt_ wrong, too and, once more, Dib let out a deep sigh, shoulders slumping in disappointment as she looked at herself in the mirror. 

Something wasn’t right. Her body still looked and felt wrong and it was exhausting. Maybe she wasn’t trying hard enough, or maybe she wasn’t taking the right steps, but, regardless, Dib still felt uncomfortable in her own skin. 

That night she decided that the next day, she would carefully watch her fellow female classmates in an attempt to piece together why she felt the way she did. Maybe, if she investigated what she found pretty about her classmates and, if she learned more about what people generally liked about said classmates’ appearances, she could figure out what it was about her own body that made her so uncomfortable. 

As it turned out, people-watching her classmates helped her realize very little beyond the fact that _wow_ , girls were pretty and she was fairly sure she liked them in a “more-than-just-friendly” way.

That didn’t mean that she didn’t notice things, though. She picked up on the fact that many of her peers were already experimenting with makeup in ways that she hadn’t done yet among other things. As stereotypical as the entire situation of Dib attempting to force herself into doing more traditionally feminine things was, she was doing them because she wanted to feel _better_ about herself. Maybe if she was able to just find the right combination of things, she could feel better about herself. Perhaps she would feel better in her own skin if she was able to find what needed to change. 

As she sat on the ground in front of a small mirror, attempting to apply various makeup products to her face, she felt a little lost. Considering she didn’t have a mother or older sister to teach her, nor friends who were interested in makeup (or friends at _all_ , really), she struggled. The internet was a fantastic resource, though, so she managed to find different tutorials that helped her on her way. 

She spent what felt like _hours_ in front of her mirror on a Saturday night, applying different makeup looks and then wiping them off in discomfort. No matter what looks she tried out or what combinations she experimented with, she just couldn’t find something that she liked and that she felt suited her. None of it made her feel more comfortable as she had hoped it would. None of the looks made her feel bolder or more secure in her body. All of it just looked like she was putting on someone else’s mask. 

Dib gave up for the night, packing everything up and stuffing them into the bottom drawer of her nightstand almost angrily and tossing away the wad of makeup removal wipes. She had spent so much time trying to figure this out yet she _still_ felt uncomfortable and _disgusting_. 

Pushing a pillow so hard against her face that she knocked her glasses askew and scrunched up her nose, she angrily yelled into the pillow, attempting to vent her anger towards the situation without waking up the rest of her family. She knew that it was commonplace for people to have problems with their bodies- especially during middle and high school- but that didn’t make it any less aggravating and draining. Despite _knowing_ that other people in her school felt the same problems that she did, Dib couldn’t help but feel alone. She felt like there was some secret passageway where the answer laid with a door she couldn’t see that held the answers to her questions. The answer to what she was dealing with felt so impossibly far away from her while being painfully close as well, just out of her reach.

~~~

Periods rolling around once a month was one of the worst things for Dib’s fragile ego and self-image. It hurt, of course, and was _incredibly_ inconvenient (Dib had always been plagued with terrible cramps and headaches when her period arrived), but that was far from the worst of it. While the pain made her nearly crazy and created difficulty with focusing on anything other than the discomfort, and washing blood of any kind out of clothes was a pain, what was worse were the thoughts that ran through her mind whenever she was on her period. It wasn’t just mood-swings. Instead, it was some strange self-loathing as she was forced to focus on her genitals more. 

As weird as it was to describe, most days, she could completely ignore what was going on _down there_ . When she was on her period, Dib couldn’t just overlook how uncomfortable she was in regards to what was between her legs. She couldn’t put words to her feelings, but she did know that she felt physically sick just thinking too hard about what was going on down there. She hated having to think about it and she was fairly sure that _normal girls_ didn’t hate their own genitals just because they _existed_. 

Dib couldn’t describe why she felt so uncomfortable with that specific part of her body- it made zero sense to her considering she knew _no one else_ who had the same problem- but she did. The closest she could come to describing why was that it felt as though it didn’t _fit_. As weird as it sounded, so many parts of her body- this one included- felt like a piece from a different puzzle being forced into the wrong picture.

So many times while on her period, Dib found herself curled in the fetal position on her bed, burrowed completely under the covers as she just wallowed in her distaste for herself and her situation. 

Needless to say, she dreaded her periods.

~~~

In middle school, she decided to audition for the school’s choir. 

Although Dib didn’t know the first thing about singing as far as actual form and breathing and technical stuff went, she had always loved music and took quite a bit of joy in singing. She figured that, perhaps, if she was able to find a hobby other than paranormal investigating, she would have more fun while also doing something “normal” enough to make her dad happy- proud even. Besides, the idea of being in a group of people with a similar interest sounded nice… having _friends_ like that sounded nice. 

_Quiet_ from the _Matilda_ musical was what Dib sang at her audition for the choir. While she had never taken any voice lessons or anything of the sort before, she had practised for an incredibly long time and had put forth a great deal of effort into preparing herself for the audition. Not only that, but she learned more about vocal health specifically so that she could prepare herself and sound the best she could for the audition. She did everything that she thought she possibly could to do well and get accepted into the class. 

During her audition, she was actually confident! Her voice didn’t shake with nerves like some of the other kids’ voices had, nor was her voice barely above a whisper as she sang. She poured emotion into the words she sang and she was _positive_ that she nailed her performance. In fact, to make sure that she actually did well and that it wasn’t just all in her head, she had an MP3 layer in her pocket to capture her voice as she sang. 

The moment she got back home from the audition, Dib grabbed her headphones and plugged them into the device. Excitement still coursing through her from what felt like an amazing performance, she booted up the MP3 player and hit the play button. 

The second she heard her voice flow in through the speakers, she blinked, taken aback. She sat up straighter, feeling her throat tighten as a lump formed there. Was that really what she sounded like? Sure, the voice was _pretty_ but it sounded so completely different from the voice she imagined herself having- the voice she heard in her head whenever she listened to herself talking out loud. 

Immediately, Dib leapt from where she was sitting and ran into Gaz’s room, knocking on her door.

Gaz begrudgingly opened the door moments after Dib had knocked, giving her sister an unimpressed look, “ _What_?”

Dib extended the headphones for Gaz to put on, “Is this what my voice really sounds like?”

Giving Dib a weird look, Gaz put the headphones on for a moment, listening carefully before slipping them off once more, “Yeah. Why?”

“I just-” Dib didn’t know how to explain the way that knowing that that was _her_ voice made her felt, “I just know that a lot of devices kind of distort voices so they sound a little off and I _did_ have it in my pocket while recording so-”

“If you’re worried about your audition,” Gaz cut off the rambling, showing a moment of gentleness that she didn’t frequently display (likely because of how unnerved Dib sounded), “You sounded _great_. Don’t worry about it.”

Dib took a deep breath, trying to stabilize herself and forced a smile onto her face, “Thanks, Gaz.”

She ran back to her room, throwing herself onto her bed immediately upon entering the room, resting her head on the pillow as she stared at the wall, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

Dib had always imagined that her voice was far deeper than the voice she heard on the MP3 player had been. Unlike what she envisioned her voice as, the voice on the small device had been high-pitched and silvery. It was pretty but undeniably _feminine_ and, while she had no clue why that made her so upset, knowing that her voice sounded like that made her eyes sting with tears. 

Several weeks later, she discovered that she had been accepted into the choir. Although it hadn’t been an incredibly elite class or to intensive of a process (nearly everyone who auditioned was accepted), her father applauded her. Whether that was because he was actually proud that she had done well or because he was happy that she was finally taking interest in something other than the paranormal, Dib couldn’t tell. 

She was thrilled to hear that she had gotten into the class, but, as her mind drifted back to what her voice sounded like… 

“Actually, Dad, I… don’t think I’m going to take the class.”

“What,” her father furrowed his eyebrows, genuine confusion flashing across his face, “Why not? You were so excited to audition!”

Even Gaz glanced up from her GameSlave, focusing her attention on Dib for a moment, giving her sister a strange look that told Dib that she was just as confused as their dad was about her decision. 

“I just don’t think I’m right for the class,” Dib tried, knowing that it was a poor excuse. 

“Your teacher clearly disagrees-”

“I’m just not interested, anymore.”

Dib forced a smile before she left, but it was bitter and insincere.

~~~

Dib stood in front of the mirror, looking at herself with growing disdain- something that was slowly becoming a habit over the years. The person in the mirror was a normal girl. Her dark hair had been grown out and straightened so that it resembled her father’s less than it had before. She wore a cerulean blue dress with a circle skirt cut and a camp collar (whatever all that mean) that hung nicely on her body, short enough that it showed off her cleanly shaven legs. The makeup on her face was so heavy that she didn’t look anything like Dib usually did. 

Even with the hair and the makeup and the shaving and the dress… Dib didn’t look _right_ . She looks as close to a normal girl as she could possibly get, but, for _some reason_ , that only made it worse. Dib had only wanted to look like and be normal. She didn’t want to feel the way that she did- the way that she had felt for _years_ now. No matter what she did though, the feeling just wouldn’t go _away_. 

In a last-ditch attempt, Dib ripped several pieces of toilet paper from the holder, bunching them up before stuffing them into her bra almost violently, hoping this would do _something_ to make her feel better. At the very least, if this helped her discover that she was insecure about _this_ she would know that it was _normal_ for her to feel the way she was. 

Unsurprisingly, though, when he looked at herself in the mirror once more… she felt worse. 

Letting out a bitter laugh, Dib leaned against the wall behind her, slowly allowing herself to slide down the wall until she hit the floor in a somewhat uncomfortable sitting position. She drew her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, scrunching up her nose slightly at the feeling of her legs. 

With a pitiful sniff, she wiped at her face, her hand stained with the makeup she had attempted to put on that was now streaming down her face at an alarming rate. 

There was a knock on the door, “Dib?” It was Gaz. 

“Yeah- uh, I’m busy, Gaz.”

“You’re _crying_ ,” she corrected. 

“Busy _crying_ then,” Dib snapped, voice shaking as she spoke. 

Gaz sighed, “I’m coming in.”

When Dib didn’t protest, Gaz pushed open the door and came in, closing the door securely behind her and sitting on the floor beside Dib. Her eyes scanned over Dib’s body, worry twisting her features as she took the sight in. “You look…”

“I know I look like shit, you don’t have to tell me that.”

“I was going to say upset, but that too.”

Dib chuckled a bit, though it was strained from the tears that she was struggling to hold back. 

“What’s wrong.”

“I…” Dib’s voice broke, “I don’t know.” 

A new wave of hot tears slipped from her eyes, creating a river down her face, washing away any makeup that dare lay in its path as it did so. 

Gaz tentatively wrapped her arms around her sister as she cried. Gaz wasn’t good with comforting people- in fact, most times, she would tease Dib when she seemed upset about stuff, but she had never seen her cry like this before. Dib had never looked this broken before, so Gaz tried her best, holding her sister close to herself as she cried. 

“...body issues?”

“Something like that,” Dib took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together enough to explain, “It’s like… my body doesn’t fit me? I feel like I’m in someone else’s body entirely and, no matter what I do to change that, it never _stops_ . I tried changing my hair and my clothes but nothing makes it better- it just keeps getting worse. Even just hearing my own voice makes me want to cut out my vocal cords.” Dib let out a dry, humourless laugh, “And hearing people call me “she” or a girl makes me feel weird? What the fuck is _wrong_ with me? Normal girls don’t fucking _feel_ like this!”

Gaz tried her hardest to take in everything that her sister was saying, “So… the more you do to make yourself look like a… “normal” girl, the worse you feel?”

Dib nodded. 

“...Let’s try something.”

Gaz stood for a moment to grab Dib’s pack of makeup wipes and bring the waste bin over to them before sitting on the floor in front of her sister once more. From there, she slipped Dib’s glasses off and got to work wiping the runny makeup from her face. As she did so, Dib tugged the toilet paper from her bra, tossing it into the bin as well.

Both of them leaned back once all of the makeup was clear from Dib’s face. 

“Any better?”

Dib let out a deep breath, “A little.”

“Wait here for a second.”

Gaz disappeared into the hallway. Several minutes passed and, for a bit, Dib began to worry that Gaz was getting their dad. She didn’t want their dad to know what an abnormal little freak she was.

When Gaz came back, though, she wasn’t accompanied by their father. Instead, she held several articles of clothes in her hands as well as a pair of scissors. She dropped the pile of clothes- a t-shirt and a pair of Dib’s jeans- next to them before grabbing a pair of nylon tights and the scissors. 

Dib watched, head tilted as Gaz cut into the tights, removing both legs of the pants before cutting a hole in the crotch area and passing it over to Dib. 

Dib raised an eyebrow and looked down at the article of clothing cut up in her hands, “Uhh… what?”

“Did you maybe think that you got more uncomfortable because you should be doing the _opposite_ of what you were doing?”

“Well, _no_. What I was doing was normal girl stuff-”

Gaz cut dib off, “Just- put that on. Put it on over your head like a bra and look at yourself in the mirror.” Without needing to be told, Gaz turned her back to Dib as she tugged her dress off. Dib struggled slightly to get the strange clothing piece Gaz had attempted to make for her over her head and, before looking in the mirror, decided to tug on the jeans. 

Dib carefully examined her chest in the mirror, turning at different angles and tilting her head to get a better view. Although it wasn’t much, the fabric did do _something_ . Specifically, it made her chest look far smaller than usual. It wasn’t completely flat nor was it very comfortable, but it did look better than usual. She felt her shoulders relax slightly at the reflection. Her chest _feeling_ smaller somehow made her feel… better. 

“That do anything?”

Considering the fabric, despite being cut, covered the majority of her top half, Dib didn’t mind her sister seeing her like this- it was, essentially, a crop top (granted, an ugly, poorly constructed one), “This… feels better.”

Gaz nodded before handing Dib the t-shirt which she pulled on immediately. 

This time, when Dib looked at herself in the mirror, Gaz gathered Dib hair in her hands, twisting it up out of her face. She grabbed the last clothing item she had brought into the bathroom with her- a beanie- and tugged it onto Dib’s head so that the majority of her hair was trapped underneath it, leaving only one long strand at the very front of her head free.

Dib blinked at herself in the mirror. When she stared at herself for a bit too long, Gaz spoke.

“Dib, look at this,” she held up her phone, showing Dib the article on the screen.

Once more, they sat down on the cold tile of the bathroom floor and Gaz sat across from Dib, letting her read through the article- as well as a couple of related ones- as Gaz played on her GameSlave, patiently waiting for Dib to finish reading. 

By the time Dib finished, she felt as though things made more sense while raising more questions as well. If this was what was going on, what did that mean? Would their dad be okay with it? Would their peers? Was this _really_ something that would make Dib feel more comfortable? 

“Done reading?”

Dib nodded, “I… I think I might be trans, Gaz.”

“Shocker,” Gaz teased lightly and Dib couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle- a genuine one, this time. 

“How do I know if I really am, though? A trans guy, I mean?”

“Well, you said hearing she/her for you felt uncomfortable, so, maybe trying he/him for a while can help you see what feels more comfortable.”

Dib nodded, that did make sense. “But what if that _doesn’t_ feel better?”

“Thank we’ll try something else,” Gaz shrugged, “Don’t worry. We’ll burn that bridge when we find it.”

Dib sighed, glancing at the time on Gaz’s phone. It was far too late to validate them still being awake at this hour- especially on the floor of their bathroom having some strange heart-to-heart moment that was months overdue. It wasn’t until Dib took note of the time that she realized how tired she was. With the combination of the late hour and the crying from earlier (crying _always_ made her feel tired and drained), she felt like she could almost fall asleep on the spot. 

Gaz climbed to her feet, taking her phone from Dib as she- _he_ \- stood up.

“We can talk more tomorrow if you need, _bro_ -” Dib smiled at that- “But I’m going to bed for now. Night.”

Dib watched as his sister headed down the hall towards her own room, “Gaz?”

“What?” She glanced over her shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

She smiled slightly, “No problem.”

~~~

Dib spent some time on the internet later that night. He spent quite a bit of time researching and, after quite some time, he came to the conclusion that Gaz had almost definitely been right. The things that people wrote about being transgender and about gender dysphoria, in general, were _spot-on_ , perfectly describing what he had been feeling. 

For about a week, they experimented with the label. In private, Gaz referred to Dib as her brother and called him by masculine pronouns. It felt strange, at first, but, the more it happened, the more Dib realized that he was far more comfortable with he/him pronouns than he had thought before. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but crack a small smile when he heard Gaz call him her brother. 

Several months passed and, since that time in the bathroom, Dib only felt more and more confident that he really was transgender. He ended up dropping the facade that he had been attempting to force himself to uphold for several years beforehand. Instead of forcing himself to wear the most feminine, normal clothes he found, he decided to just wear whatever he felt the most comfortable in. Gaz cut his hair so that it was more masculine- and very much like their father’s hair was. Despite what Dib had been telling himself for years, he finally felt comfortable with just… being _himself_. Dib felt better than he had in a long time and he wasn’t as worried about how he was presenting, anymore. 

There was one glaring thing, though, that he was worried about: coming out to his dad. 

Membrane had never been particularly homophobic or transphobic in any way. He had never openly been bigoted in any way and, throughout Gaz and Dib’s entire lives, had never done or said anything that even implied that he disliked transgender people. It shouldn’t have been scary to come out to him...

On the other hand, though… Membrane had also always been disappointed in several aspects of Dib’s life- particularly his interest in the paranormal and aliens alike. He had always wanted so badly for Dib to just be passionate about  
“normal, real” science. He didn’t know if this was another thing that his dad would disapprove of.

Regardless, after about half a year of knowing, Dib finally caved and decided to come out to their dad. At the very least, having that weight finally off his chest (metaphorically, obviously, though having the weight _literally_ of his chest) would at the very least make him feel better… hopefully. 

One night, he wrote a letter to his father in which he explained the science behind transgenderism and finally said that he, himself, was transgender. He left the paper in Membrane’s lab right before he went to school, deciding that dodging actual confrontation about the situation would make it far less difficult for him. 

Despite feeling incredibly confident when leaving the letter, the entire time he was at school, he had a hard time focusing on his classes. He ended up spending far more time nervously staring into space, pondering what would happen and chewing his nails than he did actually paying attention. Dib was frequently able to just zone out during class because he didn’t have a difficult time understanding the majority of things they learned there, but this was a new low for him. 

At lunch, he almost cried and, when the time school was over rolled around, Dib almost decided to just not go home- and probably would have had Gaz not threatened him with bodily harm and then reassured him the entire way home.

Before finally entering the house, Dib took a deep breath. He did his best to push his nerves down despite his trembling hands and heart pounding out of his chest. He focused on his breathing and keeping it even to clear his mind enough to go inside without panicking the second he entered the house.

With sweaty palms, he grasped the door knob and headed inside. 

Typically, when him and Gaz returned home from school, their father was either out somewhere for work or down in the basement, experimenting and such in his lab. Today, however, he was at the kitchen table when the two of them came home, as though he had been waiting for them. 

Membrane looked up as he heard the door close behind them, “Kids.”

Dib gulped, but Gaz just squeezed his shoulder supportively before heading into the other room to give them some space. 

Membrane stood, coming over to stand in front of Dib. His eyebrows were furrowed as though he were deeply saddened by something and Dib felt nearly sick with anxiety as he realized that that was because of _him_. 

Dib clenched his jaw and stared up at his dad, waiting to hear one of the horrible things that he had heard in the horror stories about kids coming out to parents who didn’t accept them. He expected to be institutionalized or talked down to or be told that he was “just confused”- as crazy as all of those possibilities were. 

Instead, his dad leaned down to Dib’s height and wrapped his arms around him tightly, pulling him into a safe, warm hug, “I will _always_ love you, _Son_.” 

Dib hugged back, letting himself relax, the anxiety he had been holding in all day finally taking the form of relieved tears burning the back of his eyes. His worry dissipated as he heard his father’s words. He had nothing to worry about- everything would be okay.

 _He_ would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> While I know that this song is about the double standards that people (especially women) face and not about the struggles of being trans and discovering one’s identity, there were a lot of lines of the song that remindeded me of my own experience as a trans guy and what I went through while learning who I am, so I thought it would be interesting to write something about being trans while taking inspiration from the song.
> 
> I didn’t mean to project as much as I did, but I… I projected a lot of this. Whoops.


End file.
